mouse and lion
not being the right kind of theatre kid
I wish I had one of those stories where the kid joins the theatre class and finally.
At long last everything about them makes sense.
They fit in now, are weird, not judged.
This was supposed to be my The Perks of Being a Wallflower moment.
While in the high school theatre program,
I felt the spotlight of loneliness most dramatically.
I loved acting.
I loved it so much, there was even a time I thought
this is the only possible thing in the world for me.
Theatrics parasitically consumed me from the moment I was born.
No wonder I clung.
Like the orangutan begging his mother to hitch one final ride.
Both desiring a trope and grasping at it.
A failed germination.
The only sprouted seed— between mouse and lion.
My voice molded of glass.
so small and charred.
Jupiter hugs the lion surrounded in Bad Spirit.
“PROJECT!” said the teacher.
I’m screaming…
Days without speaking.
Each day, one more shovelful of dirt on the coffin.
When you’re 5 foot 7 inches there’s little room to grow.
And burying yourself is not a solo job.
After school, I lifted the latch off my little caged up lion to allow for her to scream and cry.
The teenage mind can’t predict the future
even in a 1-star psychic kind of way.
Certainty of the past befalls the mind’s power,
questioning of the present determines it.
Blame and shame, name of the game!
Casted for a quest -------------- Far Far Away
Invisibility cloaked by costume and design.
Stage right, the air feels tight but my words like the breeze I’ve been longing for.
Junior year, Suey Cidel Idea Nation became my closest friend.
My dream beckoned my eyes awake.
I’m a lucid dreamer but I allow what I must face.
Slapping on my visitor pass so everyone knows I’m not here to stay.
Drawn to allyship with the occasional credit seeking drop-in that graduated too soon and would leave my friendship at the familiar theatre door.
I fantasized aliens would zap me right up.
Alas, I could find myself fitting in.
My questions were partially answered when a fellow thespian lacking fellowship abruptly asked -
“Why are you even in this class?”
(mind you I had been here for three years)
!!!!
I was obviously flushed.
I remember saying:
“uhhhh because I like acting” everything after’s a void.
I saw then I was an ignoble air balloon and everyone else was filled with noble helium.
COVID came and the theatre’s new stage- a computer.
The loneliest time became my peace and selfish salvation.
I left my final year with the kind of dissatisfaction that comes with expectation. I wondered in what ifs and felt haunted by the misunderstanding that represented my experience.
In the end, the helium became something I could let go, taking its resonant memories with it.
the first spark,
the raging flames devouring the sagebrush
the embers’ final bow.
passion can be quiet when the wind cries whistling in your ears
and the heat glows steadily in your chest.
This resonated deeply with my lived experience. Being an ignoble air balloon while everyone else is filled with noble helium is the most accurate description of otherness I’ve read. As someone who grew up a dork and was later diagnosed with CPTSD, I spent so many years wondering why I couldn't float the same way as my peers. Thank you Aimee for putting words to that invisible barrier.